


could be blue, could be grey

by knightinbrightfeathers



Series: Magevengers [3]
Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Pre-Femslash, Suicidal Thoughts, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That feeling when you're on the run from the government, your best friend has gone rogue, and your boyfriend is back from the dead.<br/>Yes. That feeling.<br/>Oh, and your therapist can fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could be blue, could be grey

Many scientists have wondered what truly goes on behind a vampire's eyes. What is it, they ask, that makes a practically human (opinions differ) person (ditto) turn from an intelligent being, perfectly capable of judgement and compassion and mercy, into a creature bent on drinking human blood to the point where it will kill its former friends? Why, they ask, does human blood make vampires go nutters?

The answer is this: nobody knows, not even the vampires. Or perhaps they do know, but since all of them manage to either escape or get killed before the human blood is flushed from their systems, the scientists have yet to receive their answers. The only group of scientists that really got the chance, and didn't end up smeared all over the walls, had a different agenda.

\-- - --

Simon couldn't concentrate, which wasn't that unusual. Since Agatha had left over a month ago on World Security Council business, even more hush-hush than SWORD, almost every mission felt like treading water. Simon couldn't remember the last time he'd captured someone who wasn't a henchperson. Or rather, he could remember, all too vividly. The man, still a teenager really, had glared at him and shouted at Simon that he was a puppet. He'd shouted other things too, unhinged nonsense, but the puppet thing had stuck. It had sounded like something Baz would have said in a rage.

It felt like one of those moments Penelope had asked him to take note of, when he got lost in his own head. Simon dutifully took out his pocket notebook.

"Mage Snow, are you listening?"

 _I don't hate myself_ that _much,_ Simon thought. He smiled blandly across the table, an Agatha smile. "I'm sorry?"

Agent Sitwell gave him an unimpressed look. Simon _thought_ it was an unimpressed look. Sitwell was of the brand of SWORD agents who seemed to be made of smooth rubber. You could poke and pull at them as much as you wanted, but you got nothing out of it. (Also, they didn't have any body odor.) You had no warning of their approach, unless they emailed you about it.

"Mr. Snow, have you been contacted by Agent Wellbelove recently?"

"No," Simon said truthfully.

"Are you sure?" Sitwell attempted to suggest by pursing his lips that Simon was not.

"Not even a postcard," Simon said, which earned him the barest whiff of a scowl. If Sitwell had known Agatha better, he would have known that she sent postcards all the time. Simon's favorites were the skylines, although Agatha seemed to prefer the cheesy ones with a picture of a landmark and "wish you were here" in a foreign language.

Actually, Simon was pretty sure he was the only victim of Agatha's postcard habit.

"If you do hear from her, you must inform us immediately-"

"Why?" Simon asked. "Has Agatha been kidnapped?" It seemed impossible.

Sitwell fixed him with a look that was definitely unimpressed. "No, Mage Snow. She's gone renegade."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, we're sure," Sitwell snapped. "Good god, man, have you heard a word I've said for the past ten minutes?"

Simon hadn't. Sitwell was the best of a boring lot, but Simon had learned to block out debriefs with SWORD's blandest agents. He'd been counting on a PowerPoint to get him through the talk. He searched for something obvious to say.

"Why the hell would Agatha go missing? She's as loyal as they come. Her whole life is SWORD."

Sitwell calmed in reaction to Simon's response. Micah's lessons had really payed off. "SWORD's trying to find out. Do we have your cooperation?"

"Of course," Simon said, hoping the lie didn't show on his face.

\-- - --

Long range before short range. The asset had two sets of instincts, one trumping the other only because it had been reinforced with something that the asset couldn't remember

_pain but what kind of pain_

because it knew it should shoot even though what it really wanted was up-close and personal. Blood, and lots of it. Kill first, then maim. Let everyone see. Those were its orders.

Something else under it all, something that niggled, which the asset ignored. It echoed only faintly, overwhelmed by orders and constant hunger (and the hunger was constantly constant, never enough, cheap feeding.) And this time there was no opportunity to drink, because the target was not dead.

The asset followed.

\-- - --

If SWORD really suspected he was lying, Simon knew, all the dodging and long-way-rounding in the world wouldn't do him any good. If anything, it would make things worse. Still, it made him feel better, so he detoured on his way home and bought milk.

The elevator was down, so Simon took the stairs up to his flat, two at a time, and fumbled with his keys one handed before realizing that the lock was broken.

So. Burglars, maybe, but it was the middle of the day, so probably not. Breaking the lock wasn't Agatha's style. SWORD or bad guys? Simon jammed his keys into his back pocket and walked right in.

"What's in the bag?" someone asked.

It could still be a very conceited supervillain. Merlin, what did it say that he'd rather have a crazy megalomaniac in his flat than a SWORD agent?

"Bloody hell, Snow, I asked a question," came the voice.

Simon stepped out of the little cubby that functioned as a coatroom for his flat. Director Fury was sitting in the armchair. Simon didn’t particularly like the armchair, which was lucky, because Director Fury was bleeding all over it.

"Milk, I see. Go put it in the fridge," Director Furry said

"I'd rather not," Simon said.

"It'll go bad," Director Fury said. He was very calm for an injured man who had broken into Simon's flat.

"You're in my _flat_ ," Simon said. "Excuse me if I don't follow orders."

Director Fury eyed him. Then he showed Simon the screen of his phone. It read, **We're being listened to.**

Simon nodded. He didn't have it in him to be angry about that right then. It felt inevitable that someone be listening in, whether SWORD or Agatha's anonymous threat.

Director Fury typed something else and held up his phone again. **Also watched.**

Again, Simon nodded.

"Where's Wellbelove?" Director Fury asked.

"I don't know." Simon hesitated. "Last time we talked she sounded worried." He didn’t know how to say, _she thinks there's something going on._ Also, it sounded stupid. Obviously there was something going on. The Director of SWORD was leaking onto his upholstery.

"Damn," Director Fury said. "I was hoping you knew. She has something I need." HE typed at his phone again. **She doesn't trust me. Thinks I'm in on it.**

 **In on what?** Simon typed on his own phone. He stepped forward to show Director Fury his own message, and the window shattered.

Director Fury doubled over with a grunt, blood welling up between the fingers of the hand he'd pressed to his gut. Simon whipped his head around. It was a clear line of sight from where he was standing to the roof of the opposite building, and Simon could see a man dressed all in black. Oddly, he wasn't holding a gun, or any kind of weapon. Instead, he held his hand out stiffly in front of him, finger pointing towards Director Fury as if accusing him. The sun reflected off his arm oddly, blinding Simon for a moment. He blinked, and the man was gone.

Director Fury groaned, and Simon snapped out of his reverie. His own phone was cracked on the floor. As Simon called emergency services on his boss's phone, he glanced back at the window. At this angle, it was out of sight.

\-- - --

The ride to the hospital would have been awkward- himself in the back with the Director, as if they were father and son-if Fury hadn't been swearing his head off.

"Call Hill," Fury directed. "Motherfucker! Tell her- fuck- be concise."

"Yes, sir." Simon swiped through the contacts. "Hello? It's Simon Snow. He's been shot. Already in the ambulance. Which hospital? Uh-" Simon turned to the medic, who looked faintly star-struck.

"Great Ormond," the medic supplied.

"Great Ormond. We're pretty close. Yes, ma'am, he's still fully conscious. I’ll keep you updated." Simon hung up, just as Fury's eyes rolled into the back of his head.

\-- - --

Hill arrived soon after Fury was wheeled into surgery, taking over in her efficient, levelheaded way. Simon rather liked her. She'd been the one to explain what had happened the day he woke up, the only person who bothered to talk to him instead of over or around him. She didn't ask any questions, which Simon found surprising, but relieving. He didn't think he'd be able to lie to her.

\-- - --

Director Fury was dead.

"He wasn't shot," the surgeon told them.

Hill narrowed her eyes. She was still perfectly coiffed, even after hours of no news and testy phone calls. "That doesn't make sense."

"It wasn't a gun," the surgeon said. "At least, not one that uses bullets. His insides are a mess, but there's nothing there except for magical residue." He studiously avoided looking at Simon.

Maria Hill, however, had no such compunctions. "Mage Snow, I'd like to go over the events of the shooting again with you." The surgeon sidled away, looking both horrified and grateful.

"I never said it was a gun," Simon said. "There was a man dressed in black, with some kind of- I don't know, something shiny on his arm? He vanished."

Hill raised her eyebrows. "Vanished."

"Yes, probably using magic," Simon said. "I have no idea why he shot the Director. Specifically, I mean."

"The Director looked pretty beat up for a man shot in the gut," Hill said.

"He was like that when I got home." Simon met Hill's gaze. "Look, if I was lying, I'd try to make it a little more believable."

Hill sighed. "Fine. Well, I expect you'd rather be somewhere else."

"I can stay. You probably have things to do-"

"And I have people trained to help me with them." Hill looked exhausted, all of a sudden. "Go."

"But-"

"Go home, Snow." Hill turned her back.

It wouldn't do him any good to argue. Simon decided to get her coffee from the drinks machine he'd found in one of the back corridors. It was the least he could do.

\-- - --

Simon was fiddling with the drinks machine's buttons to find something that wouldn't produce dirty hot water when a familiar voice said, "The only thing that machine will give you is vanilla latte."

Simon spun around. Her hair was short and red, and her whole face looked _off,_ like a room where everything had been moved an inch to the right, but it was her, even in a hoodie and hipster glasses.

"Hill won't thank you for that shit," she added.

"Agatha?" Simon asked.

"No, _prydurkavaty_ , Putin." Agatha rolled her eyes. "We need to go. Now."

"Where have you _been?_ " Simon asked, following her through the corridors.

"Not here. Shit, you have blood all over you. I hope I've got something in my bag that fits you-"

"Fury's dead," Simon interrupted.

Agatha nodded, her expression vulnerable for a moment. "I know. Come on, I'll explain in the car."

\-- - --

Agatha had "acquired" a car, so nondescript that Simon wondered if she'd "acquired" it from SWORD. She'd also acquired a crazy conspiracy theory.

"SWORD isn't trying to kill us," Simon said.

"Did I say SWORD was trying to kill is?" Agatha cupped a hand around her ear. "That's right, I didn't. Thank you, ugly ass sedan. See, Simon, even the Skoda agrees with me."

Simon wondered if going rogue had triggered something in Agatha.

"Someone _inside_ SWORD is trying to kill us."

"What's the difference?"

Agatha nodded approvingly. "Paranoia, nice."

Simon groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Aggie, please. Director Fury was shot _right in front of me_. In my _house_. I need this in easy to digest chunks."

"That's a luxury we can't afford right now." Agatha glanced at him. "Fine, don't make that face, god. Okay. You need to toss your phone first."

"Huh?"

"It's traceable, you doofus. I should have made you leave it in the hospital." Agatha frowned. "This is so fucked up. I don't want to go on the run again."

Seeing Agatha so visibly upset was, well, upsetting. "I just need to make a quick phone call, okay?"

Agatha nodded tensely. "Five minutes." She pulled over abruptly. "I'll wait in the car."

"Thanks." Simon got out of the car and called Penelope.

\-- - --

Buried, the asset remembers. Sometimes the memories are vivid. Red blood, gold hair, an immeasurable warmth. Sharp, bright joy and his bones soaked through with dull sorrow. Sometimes they are leached of color, of thought, of definition, only a numb- a numb-

There is a boy the asset doesn't remember. Only outlines, filled by need. It gnaws at the asset's stomach. The asset craves hands, fresh bread, a mouth, a tree heavy with fruit, someone's laughter, _blood-_

The shape of the boy-

need need need need need

A book, the words unimportant, because really, he- _he is not the asset-_ is pretending to ignore the boy trying to sneak up on him-

no one can sneak up on the asset _kill-_

but the boy is almost laughing and the floorboards creak so he tosses aside his book and tackles the boy _careful careful don't hurt him-_

break his bones snap his spine drink him dry-

and the boy is swearing at him, but also he's smiling, and the asset leans down and-

But that was when the asset was underground. Now, he wasn’t buried. The asset didn’t remember. He didn't even remember remembering, although there was a pit in his stomach like the cold dry earth, and his handler gave orders to the blood in the back of his throat.

\-- - --

Simon, get in the car, right now." Agatha sounded angry. "Stupid, stupid, why did I ever stop driving, I'm turning into you. Toss the phone as far away from you as you can- no, wait, take the sim card out first."

Simon cut his call with Penelope short and followed Agatha's instructions, crushing the sim card with a few hard stomps and scattering the pieces. "What's wrong?" he asked once he was in the car.

"Traffic cameras. We're being watched. Good thing the license plate's all banged to hell." Agatha hurtled into traffic.

"Reckless driving won't keep us safe forever," Simon said. "We need a safe house."

"We can't go to any of SWORD's, and your flat's out of the question. A hotel would mean credit cards, a shelter's too easy to infiltrate..."

"We could go to someone's house," Simon offered.

Agatha smiled bitterly. "You want to break in?"

"No. Knock on the front door."

Agatha outright laughed at that. "Who do you know that's safe?"

"Penelope."

Agatha glanced at him, surprised.

"You know where she lives, don't you?" Simon didn't bother waiting for a reply. "And SWORD doesn't know about her."

"Fuck, I hope not," Agatha said fervently. "I don't think they've been following you too closely. They think you're thick as lard."

"They sicced Sitwell on me," Simon said, but instead of using it to confirm her suspicions, Agatha looked worried.

\-- - --

Penelope blinked at them when she opened the door. "I was under the impression that you would call, Simon." She took in Simon's too-tight shirt and Agatha's bloodless face.

"We need someplace where no one will look for us," Simon said. "Please?"

Penelope was already stepping aside. She shut and locked the door behind them. "Sit down. I'll get you something to drink."

"You don't have to-" Simon began.

"You'll need it when you finish telling me what the hell is going on," Penelope said firmly. She pointed at the couch. "Sit, both of you." She went into the kitchen, then came back out. "Wasn't your hair blonde?"

"Yes," Agatha said, pleased. "It'll turn back soon. I need your phone."

Penelope didn't seem fazed by Agatha's cryptic statements. "Can't Simon just block it from listening tech with a spell?"

"They've got enough samples of his magic to track him if he casts a spell. That's our last resort."

Penelope crossed her arms. "You can't trace magic."

"You can," Simon said. Both women looked at him, and he flushed. "FitzSimmons explained it to me. It takes a lot of specialized equipment, but SWORD has that, and my magic's so different from anything else in this century that there's no way to mistake it for anything else."

"SWORD is after you? Isn't that who you work for?" Penelope asked. When Simon and Agatha confirmed, she uncrossed her arms. "This is going to be interesting. Here, catch," she added, and threw her phone to Agatha before going back into the kitchen.

"She's kind of mean, isn't she," Agatha murmured, taking the phone apart with a private little smile.

"No, she's really nice. It's just a lot to take in."

"Oh, Simon." Agatha patted him on the arm. "You'll understand when you're older."

"You can't _like_ her, she's my therapist!" Simon hissed.

"Don't worry, we might be dead by tomorrow."

"That's not actually comforting."

Agatha smirked at him. "Excuse me, Penelope, can I use your bathroom?"

"First door on the left down the hall."

When Agatha came back, her hair was blonde again. It was a bigger change than Simon had realized it would be, somehow.

She was also glowing a little... Simon didn't want to know.

"So," Penelope said. She took a sip of tea. It was possibly the most aggressive sip of tea Simon had ever seen. "Start talking."

"I don't actually know that much," Simon admitted. "All I know is that my missions have been weird for months, and I mean batshit. Then Agatha disappeared for a month, I was told she'd gone rogue, my boss was killed in my flat by an assassin with a shiny arm and magic powers, and Agatha showed up in the hospital and dragged me away. Also, the traffic camera were apparently doing surveillance on us."

"I didn't _disappear_."

"One cryptic late night call about how you think something bad is about to happen does not count."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "We don't have time for this. Look, it's not just a hunch. Before our mission on the boat- you know, the one whre you broke your wrist, Simon- Fury called me into his office for a pre-debrief debrief."

"Fury?" Penelope asked.

"The Director of SWORD. The bloke that got shot today. Anyways, he asked me to get information from the ship's computers. Except his instructions were a little too insider and he knew all the passcodes. I lied to him, said I hadn't been able to get it. Not long after I got called in for a WSC job- the World Security Council," Agatha told Penny.

"I know about the WSC," Penelope said. "Go on."

"It was a pretty standard mission. Sitwell was my handler- yeah, I thought it was weird, too," Agatha said, when Simon made a face.

"It's just, he was asking me where you were, just this morning," Simon said.

"You didn't tell him anything, did you?" Agatha asked.

"No, of course not!"

"Good," Agatha said. "Because he was in on the whole thing. I kept getting more missions with him for the WSC. It felt like they were testing me. I kept meeting new people, too, working up the ranks, until a couple of weeks ago I was summoned to the Secretary's office."

"Alexander Pierce," Penelope said.

Agatha nodded. "A Brit, surprisingly enough, you'd think they'd have an American. He's-" Agatha cocked her head, considering. "Bloody minded sweet-talking asshole sounds a bit biased, but yeah. We had a talk. I'll save you the diplo-babble- he wanted me to join his organization. He was _not_ talking about the WSC. I asked for time to think and went AWOL."

"Does this organization he wanted you to join have anything to do with the grey circle?" Simon asked.

"Yep," Agatha said, popping the 'p'.

"What circle are you talking about?" Penelope asked.

Agatha drew a circle in the air with a finger. "An empty grey circle. It's their symbol, logo, whatever. Symbolizes nothing. Well, not nothing, but something that's been destroyed, wiped off the face of the earth. Plus, it's everywhere. It's just a circle, they're all over the place. We saw it ages ago, on our first mission together, me and Simon. I've seen it since and thought nothing of it." Agatha sneaked a glance at Simon. "It's insidious."

Simon blanched.

"The organization's called- I'm sorry, Simon. Humdrum."

"The Insidious Humdrum," Penelope said slowly.

Agatha gave her a grim smile. "Sounds innocent, doesn't it? Like a children's book villain."

Simon made a small, helpless sound. "But the Humdrum was a creature. A thing. I killed it."

Agatha shrugged. "Maybe you didn't."

"The common consensus is that he did," Penelope said. "When Carter exposed Mage Egilhard- sorry, Simon-"

Simon shrugged.

"-a lot of his research was exposed. He wrote the spell that defeated the Humdrum, of course, and orchestrated a lot of Simon's battles with magical creatures throughout the years, to achieve a certain outcome. Mostly, researchers agree that if you hadn't defeated the Insidious Humdrum, you would have been... _absorbed_ into the SWORD. I really am sorry," she told Simon, who looked sick. "There isn't really a good way to find out about this kind of thing."

"What, that your father made you risk your life more times than you can count and pulled the strings on everything that you ever did?" Simon asked. He took a deep breath. "That's not important right now. I'll deal with it later. And I'll ask FitzSimmons to make sure i killed the Humdrum. They're geniuses, they can figure it out."

Penelope looked skeptical, but Agatha nodded. "They probably could. But have you considered the possibility that they're Humdrum agents? I know a girl who could do it, and no way she's anyone's agent."

"FitzSimmons can't be bad guys!" Simon said.

"SWORD is full of discrepancies. I went digging, and there's a lot going on between the lines. I don't know how far it goes, but it's pretty deep."

"So what do we do?" Simon asked.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Penelope cleared her throat. "Is it just me, or are we missing something?"

"Yeah, a plan and a heaping pile of information," Simon said.

"No, I mean, there's something big going on. Your boss was assassinated, and I'm guessing intel agents don't go rogue out of nowhere?" Penelope nodded at Agatha.

"Sure, call her an intel agent, you've been calling me Superbutt for weeks," Simon joked, aiming for levity and falling flat.

"That's a perfectly valid nickname," Agatha said absently. "But you're right, Penelope, I had a big reason to leave SWORD. It's called Project Insight."

"Isn't that the new security program?" Penelope asked.

Simon frowned. "Sounds kind of familiar."

"Yes, and _you_ might have heard someone talking about it in the cafeteria," Agatha said. "Since I know you don't watch the news. It's supposed to be for 'elimination of unwanted elements'." Agatha drew air quotes around the phrase. "Guess who the unwanted elements are?"

"Immigrants?" Penelope offered. "Left wing organizations?"

"No, but you'd have people being targeted from both. 'Unwanted' means magical."

"And 'elimination' means..." Penelope trailed off.

Agatha made an exploding motion with her hands. "Boom."

"That doesn't make sense. Magic is everywhere," Simon said.

Agatha shrugged. "I saw part of the list. Particularly powerful magic users, people with non-human ancestors, even people who just advocate for magical rights."

"I'm on it," Simon said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Agatha said. "So am I."

"You don't have magic," Simon said. "Do you?"

"Think," Agatha snapped. "I'm being hunted, just like you. Penelope, if you join us, you'll be hunted too."

"Of course I'll help," Penelope said. "That kind of power and violence, it's only a matter of time before they start targeting something other than magic."

"First they came, and all that," Agatha said, nodding.

"I don't want anyone to be killed on an evil whim," Penelope said. "And hey, I'll get to go to my grave with Superbutt here. That's pretty cool."

"Thanks, Penelope," Simon said. "It means a lot."

"You're welcome."

"I hate to interrupt the Hallmark moment," Agatha said, "but we need to hurry up. The sooner we move, the better our chance of not dying. We've got a lead, we'll use him."

"Sitwell?" Simon asked. "Are you sure?"

Agatha scowled at him. "I'd bet your life on it."

Simon nodded. "Then how do we find him?"

"Please, you think I don't have my handlers' schedules memorized? We can make it to his weekly meeting with the corporate intel people and ambush him there, with time to spare." Agatha jerked her chin at Penelope. "Get whatever you need for your vague yet menacing martial arts training. We'll be in the car."

It took long enough that Agatha was tapping the steering wheel irritably. She made a face at Penelope when she slid into the passenger's seat, sweatpants exchanged for jeans. "What took so long?" she asked, starting the car.

"I had to remember the code to the safe," Penelope said.

"Safe?" Simon asked.

"Normal people don't leave guns just lying around," Agatha told him.

"Do _you_?"

Penelope sighed. "It's not a gun. I just keep it in a safe because it's technically stolen government property."

"And I thought counselors were nice, safe, quiet people," Agatha said. "Show us the stolen government property, then."

Penelope opened her purse and produced what looked like a padded wristband.

Simon leaned forward between the front seats. "Do they electrocute people? Give you telepathy? Heal injuries?"

"They're wings." Penelope took in Simon's curious expression and Agatha's patient one. "Have you heard of the Falcon program?"

"I’m sure it's fascinating, but please, tell us _after_ we have a plan of attack," Agatha said. "This one doesn't improvise very well."

"I do too," Simon argued. "Hit it until it stops moving is good tactics."

"Anyway," Agatha said loudly, as Penelope snickered, "here's what we're going to do."

\-- - --

"The Falcon program was a military project. I signed a bunch of contracts saying I wasn't supposed to talk about it, but..." Penelope shrugged. "It was a collaboration between the British army and the American army. They wanted to create wings."

"Wings," Agatha said flatly.

"For pararescue. They plucked me straight out of college. I'd invented a spell that let you fly-"

"On your own?" Simon asked.

Penelope's eyes gleaned. "Yes. I won a national magical engineering competition with it."

"S your first instinct was to join the army?" Agatha asked.

"I didn't join the army. I graduated from university with honors and a metric ton of student debt, and the army offered me a high paying job developing my spell, along with some of the brightest mechanical and magical engineers in the world. I thought I could do good.

"I loved it. There were some great people there- not just engineers and scientists, but soldiers too, to keep us practical and help with the development. They worked with those of us who thought it would help with the development process to see how they would actually fly. A couple of the soldiers even thought up a kind of fighting style you could use from the air. I liked that. It was a lot of fun."

"Did it involve krav maga?" Agatha asked. "Ju jitsu?"

"Yes, actually," Penelope said. "How did you know?"

Agatha smirked. "It's kind of my job."

"Were they the guys from the photos in your office?" Simon asked.

"Yeah." Penelope smiled a little. "I spent a lot of time waiting for something to explode so I could go back to the drawing board and try to fix what went wrong. There's only so long you can look at numbers before you go a little stir crazy. At first it was a bargain- they got lab access and someone that would explain the science, and I got design tips and people who talked about something other than electro-magical energy- but in the end, Sam and Riley were my friends."

"And then what?" Simon asked.

Penelope shrugged. "They shut the program down. We couldn't get the mix between mechanical and magical to stabilize."

"The military industry pours millions of pounds into things that they don't really need, or don't work properly. They don't just shut down programs without significant encouragement," Agatha said. "And I should know."

"Riley died," Penelope said, mouth set in a straight line. "It was on the news- faulty prototype kills brave soldier in rescue attempt, something like that. Apparently a bullet struck the engine in just the right place, and the whole thing blew up in midair. It was one of those one-in-a-million chances. There was so much pressure to put a stop to the program that there wasn't a choice."

"Fuck," Simon said softly.

"Sam and I made a pact," Penelope said. "We both joined the VA. I didn't want to go back to engineering anyways, and Sam... Sam was lost without Riley."

"I-" Simon began. He couldn't speak. "I know how that feels. I'm really sorry."

Penelope looked over her shoulder at him. "Thank you."

"Sorry to interrupt," Agatha said, turning off the main street. 'But if those wings are so vulnerable, then you shouldn't use them. We're going to get shot at some point. You're no use to us if you die."

"Oh, these aren't the military prototype. They're my own design, without any mechanical components. A side project from the Falcon program. Better in every way, plus only I can use them." Penelope rolled her eyes. "I kept telling the head of the project that they should just drop the tech, but magic freaks people out for some reason."

"So they aren't army property?" Agatha wove around a big silver BMW.

"Technically the army owns the spell," Penelope said. "And I may have used materials the army supplied. And then lied about destroying the spell and hidden them."

"And now you broke a confidentiality agreement," Simon said.

"What are you going to do, tell on me?" Penelope asked drily. "Have we arrived yet?"

Agatha pulled over. "Yes. Everyone clear on the plan?"

"Yessir," Simon said.

Penelope nodded.

"Good," Agatha said. "Anyone have anything to add?"

"Yes," Penelope said. "Simon, once all of this is over-"

Agatha raised both eyebrows.

"-you're getting a different counselor. Preferably a therapist. This is very inappropriate patient-therapist relations."

"Fair enough," Simon said.

"So I guess you can both call me Penny."

\-- - --

"Hello, Mr. Sitwell," Penelope said cheerily into the burner phone Agatha had given her. "I hear you've been two-timing SWORD. And yes, the red dot on your frankly hideous tie is a laser sight. I trust you'll do as I say? You probably don't want to die. I find most people don't."

"Wellbelove?" Sitwell hissed into his phone.

"No, but she's not very happy with you. Neither is Simon Snow. Now, why don't you do just as I say, and I promise you your tie will remain intact."

"I'm a very dangerous man, you know," Sitwell said, fear coloring his voice.

"So's my friend. Well, it's an M24, so it's not really a man, although some soldiers do anthropomorphize their weapons. To each their own. So, if you could just go down the alley to your right, well, I say alley, it's really more of a niche for garbage cans..."

"I could have you killed," Sitwell said, following directions with a calm belied by a gleam of sweat.

"What a coincidence, that's exactly what I wanted to discuss with you. Please raise your arms so that your pper arms are parallel t the ground and your forearms are hanging straight down. Thank you, hold that pose." The call terminated, leaving Sitwell confused, standing behind a trash can with his Starkphone held between his ear and his shoulder.

On the rooftop above him, Penelope smoothed down her shirt and took a deep breath.

"Just like riding a bicycle, except with more imminent death," she murmured. "Okay. Okay. You've done this before. You can do it again." Penelope closed her eyes and spread her arms, concentrating. "One, two, thr-"

Catching herself by surprise, because it worked even though it _didn't_ , Penelope stepped backwards and fell off the top of the building.

Sitwell only had time for a really short scream when someone gripped his arms and _lifted_ before Penelope said, "Don't wriggle. I might drop you and I wouldn't even feel too bad about it."

\-- - --

On a rooftop not far from the one Penelope had just vacated, Agatha stowed away her rifle (not her favorite weapon at all, where was Hawkeye when you needed her?) and sighed.

"You're still not allowed to hit on her," Simon said, watching Penelope haul a grey-faced Sitwell across the skies of London.

"She's not your counselor anymore," Agatha pointed out. "If she's even gay. If we even survive any of this. Now shut up,"

Simon decided to shut up.

\-- - --

"Just like those Amazon drone deliveries," Agatha chirped, when Penelope dropped Sitwell onto the concrete roof, stumbling to a halt herself. "Who ordered a supremacist?"

Sitwell scrambled to his feet. "I'm not telling you anything."

Simon and Agatha exchanged glances. Simon picked Sitwell up bodily and dangled him over the roof's edge.

"You don't frighten me," Sitwell said. "You think you're the good guys, and good guys don't kill people in cold blood. If you drop me, _she'll_ just catch me."

"Nope," Penelope said. "I'll go wait in the car." She closed her eyes, concentrating, and jumped. Transparent bronze wings sprouted from her shoulder blades and she glided away.

"Falcon's useful," Agatha told Sitwell, "but she's a bit naive. Me, on the other hand..." She smiled. "Don't you want to make me happy?"

"You're the one holding me up," Sitwell said desperately to Simon. "You're a good man. You're powerful. Why let this woman control you?"

"Oh my god," Agatha said, rolling her eyes.

"SWORD was created by a woman, and part of why it was created is how powerful I am," Simon told Sitwell. "Answer her questions."

Agatha leaned forward, face close to Sitwell with a sickly sweet smile on her lips. Tell us about Project Insight."

\-- - --

They made their way off the roof and out of the building without drawing attention (Agatha seemed smug about this) and marched Sitwell to the car, stuffing him in the back. Simon sat with him.

"Where to?" Penelope asked.

"Number six, Crucible Street," Agatha said.

Sitwell paled. "You wouldn't."

"You're our ticket in," Agatha told him. "Now shut your mouth or we'll gag you."

"Don't believe us, just watch," Penelope murmured, donning sunglasses.

It was afternoon on a weekday. I didn't take them long to get stuck in traffic.

"I hate driving in London," Penelope said.

"How else would you get places?" Agatha asked.

"The Tube. I don't even have a car."

"But you have a driver's license?"

"Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be driving."

"Technically this is a criminal enterprise. You might not be worried about something a trivial as a safety law violation."

Simon was trying to come up with a code word for 'don't flirt in front of the hostage', and trying not to breathe the stench of sweat rising from said hostage, when traffic started moving again. Quickly.

"Oh, good," Penelope said, and then screamed, because someone had landed on the front window.

The person smashed the window and reached into the car, tearing the steering wheel out of Penelope's hands and out of the car altogether. They skidded across the road before crashing into a safety railing.

"Shit, shit." Agatha slapped her seatbelt open and scrambled out of the car. "Move!"

"Who was that?" Simon yelled, leaping out of the car. "You, stay," he told Sitwell.

"Not now," Agatha said, throwing open the trunk and grabbing a pair of pistols. "Falcon, move it!"

"Um..." Penelope stumbled out of the car. "Who?"

"That's your codename, you're an anonymous civilian and you want to keep it that way. Now put these on," Agatha said, tossing a pair of goggles at her. "Your shades are broken."

"They're gone," Simon said. "Whoever that was."

"It's a monster. Works for Humdrum. Explanations later," Agatha said. "Penelope, stay in the air. Distract it. Can you fight?"

"I can kick."

"It has guns, that's a no. Simon, careful, you can still die."

Simon nodded. "I'll watch Sitwell."

Agatha glared at him. "Don't die or I'll _chortiv_ kill you."

"Got it." Simon ran over to Sitwell's side of the car, while Penelope ran over to the crowd that was beginning to form, shouting at them to get away.

Sitwell was no longer in the car, although he hadn't gone far. He was lying on the ground, or at least, what was left of him was. His head had exploded.

"Fuck," Simon gritted out. He spun around, looking for the 'monster'. "Come and fight, you shithead!" _There goes my public image,_ he thought dully.

A dull clang made Simon turn around.

The person jumping off the roof of a car and stalking towards Simon was dressed in form-fitting black from head to toe, all except for its long hair, its mouth, and its left arm. They even wore a mask-and-goggles type combo, and their left arm was covered in something dark brown, smooth and gleaming.

Belatedly, Simon summoned the Sword. "There's no need for this," he said. "There are innocent people here. Someone could get hurt."

The person lifted their left arm and shot a blast of raw power at Simon.

Simon whipped up his sword, reflecting the magic away from himself and hopefully other people as well. The force of it made him stumble back a step.

"Who are you?" he asked, but the person only shot at him again.

It wasn't a fair fight. Simon had no breathing space in which to cast a spell, and the person stayed out of reach of the Sword. Simon could only defend himself.

This lasted only a few minutes before Simon saw Agatha sneaking towards them from the corner of his eye. He looked away instantly, but the person spun around in her direction anyways.

And got kicked in the head from above.

Penelope shot up as soon as her foot connected, knocking the person's mask askew. They bared their teeth at her in a silent growl, and Simon saw long, sharp fangs.

The vampire turned it's attention back to the battle on the ground, but Agatha had joined the fray. She emptied both pistols in its direction, tossing them aside. One bullet lodged in one of the goggles' eye-sockets. A few hit its left arm and rebounded with strange thuds.

"Artificial arm!" Simon yelled. "And vampire!"

"I know!" Agatha yelled back. "Kill it!"

Vampires were nearly indestructible, but the Mage's Sword would probably do the trick. Simon charged, hacking and stabbing, landing only glancing blows. The vampire was too quick, too graceful. It got under his guard and tossed him aside, into Agatha. Penelope dove towards them, and it grabbed her foot, refusing to be shaken off no matter how she kicked. It half dragged her down, half climbed up her leg, and grabbed hold of her wings. They flickered and crumpled in its hand, and Penelope went crashing into a car. She didn't get up.

Simon, already back on his feet, started running towards her, but Agatha grabbed his arm.

"No, time," she said.

True to her word, the vampire was already racing towards them. Its goggles had apparently been completely ruined, because it had removed them. Its pale eyes made Simon uneasy.

It shot another blast of power at him, and Simon, distracted, didn't deflect it in time, catching it in the gut. The pain was terrible, but Simon wrenched himself upright.

Agatha had engaged the vampire in hand to hand, recklessly dangerous with no protective clothing, so close to those fangs. She slashed at its face with a knife, and it punched her in the stomach. Both missed. Agatha got a fist to her side, and her knife cut through its mask. The black cloth fell off, but Simon couldn't catch a glimpse of its face. He couldn't even join in, only watch helplessly as his friend, skilled as she was, got pummeled.

Agatha leaped onto its shoulders, wrapping both thighs around its neck. The vampire struggled for a moment, unable to knock her off, or, apparently, bite her, before slamming its wooden arm into her knee and tossing her aside. Agatha landed on her feet, leaving the vampire open for attack, but Simon was frozen in place. He had seen the vampire's face.

It wasn't possible.

"Baz?" he asked, voice cracking.

The vampire only stared at him coldly and shot another blast of power at Simon, catching him in the stomach.

"Baz! Stop! Don't you recognize me? What happened to you?" Simon dodged another blast of power, desperation granting him speed.

"Who the hell is Baz?" the vampire asked, void of emotion. He shot at Simon again, not even lowering his arm, simply sending bolt after bolt at Simon.

"You are, you bloody prat! Tyrannus Basilton Pitch the Third, you stupid git! You don't get to kill me after all those times you tried to save... me..." Simon faltered as recognition filled Baz's eyes. "Baz?"

The recognition was replaced with horror, as a third burst of magic hit Simon in the gut. The last thing Simon saw before passing out was Baz's retreating back.

\-- - --

Simon came to, gasping from a jolt of pain in his stomach that it made the general ache in his abdomen seem dull.

"Don't try anything," warned a male voice. Simon looked to his right into the black visor of a SO16 helmet. "You're under arrest."

"What for?" Simon asked. Across from him, Agatha let out a nearly inaudible sigh.

"Are you jerking my chain?" the special operative asked. He took off his helmet and squinted at Simon. "You're really the Mage? You're a lot thicker'n I thought."

"I get that a lot," Simon said, glancing around. He was in what looked like the back of a van. The SO had a companion, this one still wearing his helmet, weapon across his lap. Simon looked down at his wrists. Handcuffs, most likely to help the SOs feel nice and safe, since he could probably bust out of them. Of course, that would make Agatha and Penelope targets.

Another jolt of pain had Simon drawing on his magic, desperate for relief, only to find it locked away from him somehow. The Sword wouldn't show up, either. Now he was really frightened.

Simon looked up at Agatha, who gave him a wide-eyed, terrified look. To him, it was obviously fake. Agatha treated fear like she treated gas- uncomfortable, but passing, and to be kept from the surroundings as much as possible. She probably _was_ scared, just not trembling with terror.

Penelope, sitting beside her, was a different case entirely. She was hunched over, her shoulders shrugged up to her ears and her feet tucked in, as if she was trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Her goggles had been shattered, but she'd pushed them up into her hair like a headband, giving her a windblown look. Like Simon, she and Agatha were both handcuffed.

"You all right, Penny?" Simon asked. Guilt churned in his stomach, mixing with the pain into a nausea-inducing soup. He'd brought her here.

"Sure," Penelope muttered.

"Hey, no talking," the SO said.

"I just-" Simon began.

"No talking, I said. No funny business either, and no magic, or I knock you and your lady friend for the rest of the ride, understand?" the SO said.

"Ride to where?" Simon asked. "Where are we going?"

The SO sneered at him. "You really are thick as lard, aren't you? Why don't you ask the ladies what I told 'em?"

Simon glared at him and turned towards Agatha. "Where are they taking us?"

"We're being taken in by the state for questioning," Agatha said, voice quavering.

By the look Penelope shot her, she didn't buy it for a second. "That's vague-talk for 'you'll never be seen again'," she said. "We'll be added to the ranks of missing ID files, swallowed by bureaucracy, and if we're lucky, we'll become another hashtag. If not, we'll become examples of civil disobedience gone wrong for the state to parade in the streets."

Simon blinked.

The SO stared at her. "Now see here-" he began, leaning forward, attention occupied long enough for the second SO to club him on the back of the head hard enough to knock him out.

"What the fuck," Penelope and Simon chorused.

The SO removed their helmet to reveal Maria Hill's face. "I'm going to need you to jump out of the car," she said.

"Who the fuck are you?" Penelope asked.

"Assistant Director Maria Hill, SWORD, and we don't have time for this. Jump, now." Hill got up and unlocked the back door of the van, throwing them open. "Roll when you hit the ground, it'll hurt less."

"Are you shitting me-"

Agatha cut Penelope off. "Why should we trust you?"

Hill gave her a surprised, assessing look. "Smaller chance of becoming a hashtag this way," she said.

Agatha nodded. "I'll take it." She got up with a small grunt. "Come on, Bunce."

There was a groan from the unconscious SO. Penelope glanced at him and got to her feet. "Fine."

"On the count of three," Agatha said, bending her knees. "One-"

"Three," Penelope said, and leaped out of the van. Agatha jumped after her, followed by Hill. Simon knocked the SO on the head one last time, just to be safe, and jumped.

He hit hard, knocking the air from his lungs and sending another lance of pain through his abdomen. The hits he'd taken from Baz were healing a lot slower than usual- and that thought knocked the breath out of him as much as the impact with the road did.

"Up you go," he heard Agatha say, breathier than usual.

Simon got to his feet, panting for breath. Hill was already standing, breathing hard, and Agatha was helping Penelope up.

"Ow," Penelope gasped.

"Yeah, jumping out of a moving vehicle will do that to you," Agatha said. "Did you break anything?"

"I don't think so," Penelope said. "You jump out of moving vehicles a lot?"

"Only on alternate Tuesdays," Agatha said, earning herself a huff of laughter.

"If you're done with the flirting, Wellbelove," Hill said. She checked her pistol- the rifle was still in the van- and jerked her head away from the road. "There's a bit of a hike to our ride."

"Ride to where?" Agatha asked, her expression instantly blank.

"Aren't you full of questions today."

"Aren't you full of not telling me anything today," Agatha retorted. "We're being hunted by the government and probably the WSC too, excuse me if I don't feel full of patience and trust."

"The WSC, huh?" Hill started walking, and they followed her into the scrub at the side of the road. "We're going to a safehouse, one of the only safehouses SWORD has left that's still uncompromised by Humdrum."

"I don't know about this," Penelope said to Simon, as Agatha argued with Hill. "What's our guarantee that SWORD is on our side?"

"You have to trust someone," Simon said, echoing his own memories.

_..And if you don't trust me, Simon, who are you going to trust?_

_I trust you, Baz,_ Simon thought. _I trust you._

\-- - --

Their ride, an unassuming delivery van with 'Barton's Best Buns' and a stylized drawing of an iced bun on the side, was identical to one of SWORD's usual mission vans on the inside. It also held bolt cutters. Simon heaved a sigh when his cuffs broke and his magic came flooding back.

"How long is this drive going to be?" Agatha asked through the driver's partition.

"Twenty minutes, give or take," Hill said.

"Wake me up when we get there," Agatha said, shutting her eyes. Her breathing slowed, and within a minute her head lolled against the headrest.

"Does she do this a lot?" Penelope asked, rubbing her wrists.

Simon thought back to those rare missions when Agatha had dropped off with her head on his shoulder. Somehow he knew that she wasn't really asleep now. "Sometimes."

When they stopped, Agatha was out of the van before Simon had his seatbelt open. "Dump," she announced, as they walked through the bunker. Hill rolled her eyes and showed them into what looked like a conference room. Agatha threw herself down into a plastic chair. "What is this, Cuban missile era?"

"Cold War," Fury said, walking into the room.

Agatha was on her feet in a second. "Simon."

"You're dead," Simon told Fury.

Fury shook his head. "Illusion spell. Real good one, from Carter's time."

"But I would've felt it," Simon protested.

"Jones was a damn good magician." Fury paused. "If Wellbelove had been there, she probably would have seen through it."

"I've got a lot of questions," Simon said.

"I'm guessing they'll have to wait," Agatha said, and suddenly she was standing right in front of Fury. "Right, _sir_?"

Fury looked at her levelly, quite a feat for a man faced with a furious Agatha. "It's called personal space, Agent. I know I trained you better than this."

"Don't you dare." Agatha looked like she wanted to spit. "I _trusted_ you."

"What made you stop?" Fury asked. "Join the WSC, Wellbelove?"

Agatha narrowed her eyes at him. "You knew."

"I suspected. You think Pierce made it easy for me to get information? You keeping it from me just made it harder to fight him." Fury crossed his arms. "But yes, I know. About Humdrum, and about Project Insight."

"Did you know about Sitwell?" Agatha asked.

"Sitwell." Fury scowled. "My organization's full of rats."

Surprisingly, this was what made Agatha back down. "So when are you going to tell us about Project Insight?"

"Right now," Fury said. He sat down on one of the chairs around the conference table. "Sit down, all of you. We have a lot to discuss. Miss Bunce, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Miss Carter speaks highly of you."

"Miss... Carter... Sharon? Really?" Penelope flushed. "What did she tell you?"

"Oh, she doesn't work for me. She just has a soft spot for SWORD." Fury nodded at Simon. "Her aunt founded it, you know. Don't worry, I was the only person who knew. Apart from Wellbelove, apparently."

Agatha shrugged. "I thought you were a traitor, sir. Can't promise it won't happen again, but I'm glad I was wrong."

"So am I," Fury said.

"Sir," Simon said. "Where's everyone else?"

"There is nobody else," Hill said. "Not right now. Not that we know we can trust."

"So what's the plan?" Penelope asked. Everyone looked at her. "I'm assuming there's a plan."

Hill nodded. "Here's what we've got..."

\-- - --

"This is the dumbest design I've ever seen, and I've worked in weapon development for the military," Penelope said. "You can take command of a helicarrier with a spell? Who designed these things?"

"It's old magic," Hill said. "The system would detect anything else, and once you activate the spell, it'll self-destruct trying to get rid of what it's built to target. The helicarriers are all connected, so all we need to do is set one of them off. The only person who could use it nowadays is, well..."

They all looked at Simon.

"Your security still sucks," he said.

"It's a system override that shouldn't be possible. You're not supposed to be possible," Fury told Simon. "But you are, and we have a way in."

"Yeah, and it'll kill him," Penelope said. "The guns will latch onto him, not just the spell."

"He'll just have to escape in time," Hill said.

"Are you insane? There aren't any spells for flying you can cast on yourself, you know-"

"He can use a god-damn parachute, can't he-"

"Oh, like that's inconspicuous-"

"Shut up," Agatha interrupted. "Simon?"

"I'll do it," Simon said. "Penny, can't you catch me with your wings?"

Penelope bit her lip, face drawn. "That- the assassin, the vampire- just wiped the magic from them. One minute I was fine, and the next a chunk of the spell was missing. It'll take me at least a week to fix them."

"Miss Bunce would be sitting this one out anyways," Fury said, "seeing as she's a civilian."

"It's Falcon, actually," Penelope said, and Agatha smirked. "Look, you need everyone you can get. I'm brilliant, I'm resourceful, and I can tinker with your spell for you, because if you think someone without actual experience knows how to split a spell three ways without destroying or warping it beyond recognition, you're wrong." She looked at Simon. "Sorry."

"What for? You're right," Simon said. "I'd ruin it. I'm shit at that kind of thing."

Penny didn't respond to that, but she kept giving him looks throughout the planning session.

\-- - --

The asset isn't underground, but he still remembers. He remembers being told to kill. He remembers not wanting to kill. He remembers wanting.

The asset remembers, but he wishes he could forget. Perhaps this is his punishment. He is Heracles, awaking to find the bodies of his family strewn around him, or Odysseus, discovering after a long absence that his house has been overturned and occupied by strangers. No, he is more like the Israelites, slaughtering again and again until none of his kin remain.

Other stories, other comparisons come to him, but these, too, are part of what he wants to forget. Perhaps there is nothing else like him, nothing at all, because he is a horror. He is a monster. A murderer.

The bolthole he is in is well stocked with food, currency and weapons, and his body knew where it was without consulting the rest of him. At some point during the last seventy years- Scott and Shakespeare, seventy years- his soul must have been replaced by an extra brain, one that knows how to kill efficiently and doesn't know how to cry. It's probably in his left arm. Maybe his soul is in his real left arm, rotted away with the flesh. The wooden arm _hurts._

His regular brain has not forgotten how to cry.

\-- - --

Simon had known it was only a matter of time before he'd have to talk about Baz. He'd just hoped it would be long enough for... well, it wasn't like he would be able to come up with any kind of plan. Maybe deep down, he'd hoped that everyone would just leave him alone.

Simon's subconscious was a stupid motherfucker.

"Don't you need to split the spell?" he asked.

Penelope sat down next to him and opened her hand. Three computer chips sat nestled in her palm. To Simon, they made the air bend and ripple, like heatwaves over a road. "Done."

"Efficient," Simon said, and didn't touch them.

Penelope sighed and let the chips slide onto the conference table. "You've been here for hours now."

"I'm thinking."

"You're not thinking, you're dwelling," Penelope countered. "On what happened in London."

"Maybe I am," Simon said. "So what?"

"So fiddlesticks, Simon, please don't make me be your therapist. We both know I can't be that anymore. I probably never should have tried in the first place," Penelope said. "And don't make that face. I'm not your therapist, true, but I'm your friend."

Simon tried a smile. It came out weak. "Thanks."

"Friendship isn't something you have to thank other people for," Penelope said. "It's not a gift, it's a relationship."

"Thank you for caring about me is a thing people say," Simon said, making Penelope snort. "Or don't you do that in these newfangled modern times?"

"I suppose some people do," Penelope said. Her voice grew softer, and Simon cursed himself for setting himself up so easily. "What did you do back in the olden days?"

Simon shrugged.

Penelope didn't say anything. She just sat with him, silent, until Simon opened his mouth.

"We didn't talk about that," Simon said. "Just... he'd tell me not to get hurt and not to be stupid, and I'd tell him not to be so paranoid all the time, and neither of us would listen to the other. Except it turns out he was right."

"By he, you mean..." Penny trailed off.

"Baz." Simon stared at his feet resolutely. His sneakers had bloodstains on them. Teenagers' shoes, on a teenager who looked like an adult. "And now you can ask what you wanted to ask."

"What do I want to ask?" Penelope asked.

"I thought you weren't my therapist anymore," Simon said, too tired to be bitter.

"I'm not-"

"Then ask me friend questions!" Simon said. "Are you alright, Simon? Are you devastated by the reappearance of your childhood friend, Simon? Does the fact that the boy you loved is alive give you hope, Simon? Are you horrified because he's apparently an assassin vampire with a magical prosthetic, Simon? He tried to kill you, Simon, how does that make you feel?" He got to his feet, sending the chair he'd been sitting on crashing to the floor. The plastic made an unsatisfactory clattering sound against the concrete.

"Simon..." Penelope looked up, her eyes bright in the dim emergency lighting. "Maybe Baz didn't try to kill you."

"He shot me in the stomach!" Simon kicked the chair, which spun away and hit the wall. "That's not a polite greeting!"

"No, but maybe it wasn't Baz," Penelope said.

Simon laughed, too loud and too short to convey any humor. "It's him. He's alive, and so am I, and this should be all I ever wanted, but instead I just wish we were both dead again!"

"You don't mean that," Penelope said.

Simon's shoulders slumped. "No, I don't. But... did you see his eyes? He recognized me. And now he's dealing with all of the stuff I dealt with, except a thousand times worse and without anyone to help him."

"I didn't see his eyes," Penelope said. "All I know is that he ran away after you lost consciousness. He probably thought you were dead-"

"No-" Simon choked out, before Penelope got to her feet and caught his hands.

"Listen to me, Simon. Humdrum knows you're alive, so he does, too."

"He wouldn't go back," Simon protested. "He recognized me."

"Have you considered that maybe he didn't?" Penelope asked. "And maybe it would be better if he didn't?"

"What do you mean?" Simon asked, staring at her.

"Agatha told me about him. He's infamous among the right circles- the wrong circles, I suppose. He's called the Red Soldier. He's killed so many people, Simon. History is filled with his victims, both known and unknown. And he didn't just kill them. He drank their blood. Would the Baz you knew do something like that?"

Simon shook his head mutely.

"It's quite likely that the Baz you knew is gone forever. That there's nothing of him left."

"No," Simon said, shaking his head again. "I won't accept that."

"It might be better-"

"For me or for him?" Simon yanked his hands away from Penelope's grip. "He remembered me, Penny, I can't just abandon him! I have to help him. He's always been there for me, and now it's my turn."

"You don't owe him," Penelope said. "He did that out of friendship. Love."

"And now I'll do it back," Simon said.

Penelope gave him a good, long stare, before nodding decisively. "I'll help you."

"You were trying to convince me that he's a soulless murderer a second ago!" Simon said.

"I'm helping you out of friendship," Penelope said. "I just hope you're right."

"I am," Simon said firmly. He believed it with all he was. Baz being alive reverberated through Simon's body, the truest thing he'd found since he'd woken more than a year ago. He'd find Baz and help him out of whatever hell he was in. With Baz, Simon could face anything.

Penelope patted his elbow and picked the spell chips off the table. "Better get some sleep. It's a long day tomorrow."

"I don't need much sleep," Simon said.

"You need some. You got shot in the stomach today, remember?" Penelope headed out of the conference room.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Simon..."

Simon turned around.

Penelope lingered by the door. "It won't be easy."

"I know," Simon said."

"I'm not just talking about the psychological side. No-one's ever managed to make a vampire revert back to humanity. It's all theories. Detoxing a seventy-year-old vampire... that's going to be a painful process, if it even works."

"It has to," Simon said.

Penelope looked as though she wanted to say something else, and then she left.

\-- - --

Simon couldn't sleep. And so, he was awake when the door opened.

"Knock knock," Agatha said, leaning on the doorframe.

"You're supposed to knock before you come in," Simon said, sitting up, careful not to hit his head on the bunk above. The bunker had lots of cramped bedrooms, each containing four bunkbeds. He'd cracked his head on the metal bars twice already.

Agatha shrugged. "You weren't asleep."

"Neither are you," Simon said. "Was there something you wanted to say, or did you just come to stand around cryptically?"

"Someone's in a mood," Agatha said, staying where she was.

"Yeah, well," Simon said.

Neither of them spoke until Agatha broke the silence.

"I heard you and Penelope before."

"Eavesdropping?" Simon asked.

"Just passing by. You were kind of loud. If it's any comfort, I doubt either Fury or Hill heard. They were too busy sorting through the relics in the armory here." Agatha took a step into the room. "You're really going to find a way to heal the Red Soldier?"

"His name is Baz," Simon said sharply.

"Sorry," Agatha said.

Simon started in surprise, smashing his head into the metal frame of the bunkbed. "Ow, fuck, Agatha," he said. "Don't scare me like that."

"Very funny," Agatha said. She sat on the bed across from Simon, legs crossed. "If you want to heal your monster-"

"He's not a monster!"

"Shut the fuck up, Simon, of course he is. But just because he's become a monster doesn't mean he isn't a human being," Agatha said. "Look, it's going to be a shit storm tomorrow."

"I know."

"And after you find Basilton- _if_ you find him, and _if_ he's still alive- he's going to be a wreck."

"I know-"

"No, you really don't. You don't know what kind of horrors have been done to him, what they've told him, you don't even know who he thinks he is. You have no idea what kind of evil people are capable of."

"And you do?"

"I _am_ that evil," Agatha said. "I'm one of the monsters."

"You're not a monster, you're my friend."

"I'm both, you idiot," Agatha said. "Just- just shut _up_ for a second, _please_." She took a deep, ragged breath, and the dim light glistened on her wet cheeks. "Shut up and listen. I'm only telling you this once, and you don't tell anybody, ever. Understand?"

Simon nodded. "Aggie..."

"This is hard enough as it is, Simon, do let me keep the last shreds of my dignity." Agatha wiped her face with a sleeve. "There was an... organization called the Red Room. Yes, like the Red Soldier, probably named after him, but what do I know? They dealt in crossbreeding. I mean, we've already got people with fairy blood and all that, but they wanted to weaponize it. They weren't about to wait for evolution to kick in, so they sped up the process. They cut people open and mixed and matched human internal organs and blood with magical ones. The scientists weren't very concerned about what it would do to their subjects, apart from magical powers. Most of the experiments went mad, or were poisoned by the foreign blood, or the shock got them. A very few were successful. The only project with consistent success was the one that created me." Agatha curled her hands into fists. "Take a little girl, mix her blood with a hulder's, and set her on the men. I'm stronger than almost anyone, apart from you. I don't age- at least, I don't think I do, but I can't tell, because..." Agatha dropped her head. "Any questions?"

It took Simon a moment to remember how to talk. "What's a hulder?" he asked, finally.

"Norwegian creature. The front is a beautiful woman, and the back's hollow. They seduce men." Agatha's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "And no, I'm not hollow in the back, but I am hollow on the inside."

"You mean you don't have bits? Kidneys and things?"

"Of course I have kidneys, you ass." Agatha looked up. "I'm _hollow_ , Simon, don't you understand? Empty. A shell with no emotions. I can't love, I can't feel joy, I don't get sad." She waved a hand at her face. "All I am is a pretty puppet."

"That's bullshit," Simon growled. "Bullshit. Maybe you can sell that crap to people who don't know you, but I do. You do have emotions."

"I've killed people," Agatha said.

Simon shrugged. "So have I."

"You may think you know me, Mage, but you don't. Not at all."

"Mage? Really?" Simon leaned towards her. "Look, I won't ever know everything about you, but I do know that you're my friend. You're a good person. You've helped me through so much."

"It was a _facade_ ," Agatha said through clenched teeth.

"Isn't everyone faking it?"

Agatha's face crumpled. "Not like I am." She pulled a compact from the pocket of her hoodie and strode over to the door to hit the light switch. "Watch," she said.

Simon watched. Agatha's face rippled- not a pleasant sight at all- and then it was changing, her nose growing and her mouth shrinking. When she looked up, Simon could see that her eyes had gone from green to a very pale grey, almost colorless.

"Is that what you really look like?" Simon asked.

Agatha shook her head. "I don't even know what I really look like anymore."

"And Agatha Wellbelove isn't your real name, is it?"

"What's a real name? When I went AWOL, I was on a mission in Russia as Agafya Volkov. I got my new name from SWORD." Agatha stared at the mirror again, and her features reverted to how she always looked. "It's always a mask, Simon."

"Oh no, the feminists have fooled us again," Simon deadpanned. "Agatha, I don't care what you look like. I don't care at all."

"So, what? You're going to dismiss everything bad I ever did?" Agatha asked bitterly, shoving the compact back into her hoodie. "Instant pardon, just add teary confession?"

"Everyone's done bad shit," Simon said. "That doesn't mean they deserve to be shunned and hated."

Agatha shook her head sharply. "You are a nutjob."

"Obviously," Simon said.

Agatha turned off the light, plunging them into darkness. "I wasn't going to tell you my story when I came here."

"What were you going to do, then?" Simon asked.

"Thank you." Agatha's voice was disembodied in the darkness. "For thinking he isn't a monster."

"That's nothing to thank me for," Simon said.

Agatha slipped out of the room. "Oh, probably not. But when you find him- I think you love him enough to not care about anything else." And then she was gone, and Simon was left to wonder whether loving Baz that much was a good thing or a bad thing to Agatha.

\-- - --

He had to hide. Run. Escape was methodical, born of instinct he couldn't remember acquiring. (Yet. He couldn't remember yet. Seven years of memories. Seventy years of horror, with enormous fucking gaps in it where they'd taken things away.)

He'd killed. So many. He'd drunk human blood. And here Baz stopped in his tracks and vomited, emptying his stomach of nothing, bile burning his throat.

They'd taken control away from him. They'd taken humanity.

He was in one of their safehouses. Packing with their supplies.

The radio had said that Simon was wanted by the government...

There was noise in the room behind him, as if the agents he'd killed had been discovered.

Baz strode out of the safehouse, shooting men in the head. He reconsidered and pointed his finger at the third. The amount of concentration it required made him break out in a sweat. "No good deed goes unpunished."

The man screamed, writhing, but at least his head wasn't splattered against the wall, and Baz felt as if he'd gained a little control.

\-- - --

The plan went well.

Not to plan, of course- damn Pierce for all eternity- but it worked. Every true agent in SWORD leveled a gun at a Humdrum agent, or refused to operate the computers, or helped clear out the helicarriers. It all worked, until it was all up to Simon, until he had to cast the spell. Until he stuck the chip into the C helicarrier and Baz caught his arm.

He didn't use his wooden hand. He didn't have to. Simon would have known even if the only contact between them was a breath.

"You're going to die," Baz said. It didn't sound like a threat. It sounded sad, and angry, and a little resigned. The resignation hit hardest. Even wiping Simon's blood and bandaging his wounds, he'd railed at Simon, at the Mage, at the entire world.

Simon turned around slowly. Baz's grip on his arm tightened in warning, but Simon only wanted to see him. No, that was a lie. He wanted to hold Baz and kiss him and breathe him in.

Baz's eyes were still as grey as always, his nose still the same narrow ridge, but his mouth was a little distorted, the upper lip making way for the fangs that protruded only slightly from Baz's mouth.

"You're not listening," Baz said. He let go of Simon's arm, and even though he was standing still, Simon almost stumbled. He wanted to touch so, so badly.

"What did they do to you?" he asked. It sounded like a sob, and Simon hated himself for it.

Baz smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Gave me blood." He raised his left arm. "And this used to be my wand."

Simon gaped at him. "What happened? Who got you? Why did they cut off your arm? Why did they turn-"

"You need to cast the spell," Baz said. He reached for Simon's hip, and Simon's body swung forward like a magnet. Baz's hand hovered over the Sword for a moment before he snatched it back. "Take your sword out."

"I don't need it for this." Simon reached out, and Baz recoiled, halfway across the room in the blink of an eye. "I'm not going to hurt you-"

"No, you're not," Baz said, eyes closing for a moment. When he opened them they were distant and old, old in a face that had barely changed since it was nineteen. "Take out the Sword. It's maybe the only thing in the world that can kill me now."

"I'm not going to kill you!" Simon shouted, his conversation with Agatha echoing in his head. "It's not your fault that they turned you into- into this!"

Baz tilted his head, the gesture so familiar and yet so wrong that Simon felt like crying. "A vampire? Or a murderer? Or are you talking about the arm?"

"All of it." Simon took a step towards Baz, and Baz took a step back.

"Ah. I don't remember the arm. I remember the murders, though. Some of them." Baz touched his neck. "I don't remember being turned into a vampire, but I remember my father telling me about it. I was three."

"No you weren't," Simon said, lightning quick. "They messed with your head, Baz. Humdrum did something to you-"

"True. But this is real."

"Baz..." Simon bowed his head, fingers digging into his thighs. It had to be a lie. But it couldn't be, because Baz had never lied to him. Except he had, because he hadn't told Simon he was a vampire... "Why are you here?"

"I'm your exit strategy." Baz strode towards him, cutting the distance between them into half. "I know you. You din't have one." There was so much conviction in the "'I know you", like an oath.

"I was going to cast a parachute spell."

Baz snorted. "Is that what you told your friends? You're blowing this craft up. A parachute spell only means the debris will have more time to catch up with you."

"What about you?" Simon asked.

But Baz didn't answer him. He held a finger to his lips. "Can you hear? Footsteps."

"We cleared everyone out," Simon said, panic flashing through him.

"Not the Humdrum agents, not all of them. Do it quick and do it now." Baz nodded at the control panel.

"I have questions-"

"This is what you came here to do," Baz said. "Do it."

Simon squeezed his eyes shut and put his hands on the console. The spell bloomed, heat coursing through the metal and plastic, and Simon snatched his hands away, swearing at the sudden pain in his fingers.

"Bit much," Baz said, suddenly next to him. "Don't you think?"

"Prat," Simon said.

"Twit," Baz countered and aimed a blast of power at the glass panes a few meters away from them. "Jump."

"You'll die if you stay here," Simon said.

"You will. I'm a vampire. It's got to be good for something." Baz followed him to the shattered panel. "Look, last time, I didn't get to say-"

"No. I'll find you. I will." Simon leaned forward and kissed Baz, hard, ignoring the danger and stupidity of it. "I promise." He lowered himself out through the broken panel, glass cutting into his hands and legs, and let go before Baz could say anything.

A few seconds later a bolt of light hit him in the shoulder. It didn't hurt. Instead, it swept him away from the helicarrier.

Simon looked up. He couldn't see Baz. And then the helicarriers exploded, one after another, filling the air with chunks of metal. Babz's spell guided Simon through the worst of it, jerking him up and down. After a while, sick with the lurching motion, Simon closed his eyes and waited for the moment he would hit the ground.

\-- - --

"You can look," Agatha said. "But it won't be easy."

It was a beautiful summers' day. The city was quiet after the mass panic that had engulfed it, but Muffin to See Here was still open despite the near lack of customers.

The helicarriers had blown up over an unpopulated area, but they'd taken out roads, gas, electricity... and, since Agatha and Simon had obviously been hiding something when they went to press, there was much casting of blame.

At least no one could claim that they'd made Humdrum up. Hill and Agatha had dumped everything on Humdrum, and any information Humdrum had had, on the web. Since Humdrum had been everywhere- government, police, army, industry- there were a lot of angry people. Agatha herself had dozens of aliases and missions now revealed to the public, but she seemed philosophical about it.

"I can always find new disguises," she had told him. Technically, all three of them- Agatha, Simon, and Penny- were lying low. Falcon was a mystery to the press, and the internet bubbled with conspiracy theories. Penny, meanwhile, had received a postcard that read "Trouble woman. Always knew you were a hero" with a picture of the White House on the front.

And Baz was gone. There had been no trace of him in the wreck of the helicarriers, no anonymous phone calls or notes. Simon checked his old flat every day, until someone changed the lock and his key no longer worked.

"He might not want to be found," Agatha said.

"I promised," Simon said. "Besides, Penny said she'd help me look."

Agatha raised her eyebrows. "Are you going for a trek across Europe, then?"

"Maybe... I don't know what he's looking for, if it's revenge or detox or what. I thought you could help."

Agatha tapped her fingernails on the side of her espresso mug. "I could."

"Will you?" Simon asked nervously.

"Yes, Simon, I'll help you find your crazy vampire boyfriend." Agatha made a face. "I can't believe that you though I wouldn't. Or that I had to say 'crazy vampire boyfriend'. I feel like I'm in a young adult novel."

"You could just drop the crazy part," Penelope said, sitting in the third chair arranged around the little table. "All right, who ate my muffin?"

"Not it," Simon said quickly.

Penelope looked pointedly at Agatha, who shrugged. "Don't look at me."

"Cute," Penelope said drily. "I hope you realize you're paying."

"Which one of us?" Simon asked.

Penelope smiled into her Earl Grey. "You're sweet, Simon, but you're not my type. Now, I think a plan of attack is in order-"

She was interrupted by a loud clash of chords. "Excuse me," Agatha said, pulling her phone from her pocket and placing it on the table. "You know, I just got this phone."

"Wellbelove!" A masculine voice came from the phone's speaker. "Wonderful to hear your voice, and when I say wonderful I mean not, I still don't like you. I loved your work, by the way, saw you on the news sassing parliament. Very classy, very me, actually, are you stealing my moves? Also liked the explosions, you know I like it when things go boom. By the way, if you didn't want me to find you you shouldn't have bought a phone produced by the company I own and designed by _moi_."

Agatha sighed. "I bought a burner. Especially for you. I know how much you like feeling special."

"Well, yes, you did give me a number, but when I called it a man answered. Now, I know you don't give your number to just anyone, but giving me a fake number is a little against your interests, isn't it?"

"I didn't give you a fake number," Agatha said.

"So you say."

"No, I really didn't. I'm not stupid, Stark."

Penelope's eyes widened. She mouthed "Stark?" at Agatha, who nodded.

"Can you call again, and trace it?" Agatha asked.

"No can do, he won't pick up. However, he did tell me to tell you that he was done running, 'just like Simon is', whatever that means. And as for Simon, I can't believe you've been holding back on me-"

"Thanks, bye," Agatha said, hanging up. "Simon?"

"I..." Simon bit his lip. "The park? Maybe?"

"Okay, let's go." Agatha tossed a few five-pound notes onto the table. "Simon, you better head on alone, we'll follow you. And for heaven's sake don't outpace the car, we're your backup."

"Got it," Simon said, jogging away.

He was going to find Baz.

\-- - --

He was so- not hungry, exactly, but there was a yawning ache in his jaw, and he felt sick, like a fever, skin sensitive and temperature erratic. So tired, too, always so tired. And memories kept blindsiding him- blood, earth, bone, years and years of pain and terror, and then a burst of light and gold and blue, an expanse of skin covered in bruises and freckles. Those hurt just as much as the blood and guts.

And here came a smell he would never forget, even if the body was still strange to him and the voice deeper. Here came that heartbeat. Here came the only good left in the world, something he should stay away from.

Simon came skidding to a halt in front of him. Baz could hear the rumble of a car engine and female voices, a hundred meters away. Probably backup.

"Hi," Baz said.

Simon looked at him with those wonderful eyes. "You called," he said, happiness lighting him up, although there was sorrow weighing those shoulders down.

"Yeah, I did," Baz said. "And now you better take me away."

"Where to?" Simon asked instantly.

"Somewhere... somewhere that can…” _Kill me._ “Fix me."

The backup car's door opened. "Tough call, but I know just the place," said a blonde woman.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Strawberry Swing by Coldplay.  
> This is the next to last fic in this series. Next up: more Baz and the actual Avengers. Complete with the old fandom OCs because fuck it, I love them. I will write a short fic for whoever guesses who I put as Iron Man. (Except for you, rhien, you already know.)


End file.
